Page 35 of Slow Burn
fourteen
“A spark neglected makes a mighty fire.” - Robert Herrick
Heath had headphones tucked in his ears, his lined face locked in focus. Cole appreciated that about him. Heath didn’t pry, didn’t talk much, didn’t expect anything. Just worked. He was one of the few people Cole could spend time with and not feel the need to fill silence.
Heath had come to Cedar Hollow nearly twenty years ago with little fanfare, quietly buying the old Hollow Inn and fixing it up piece by piece until it thrived again. Sally Anne Marsden had been at his side soon after, bright where Heath was steady, and the two of them had run the inn together ever since.
For Cole, Heath was the kind of friend you didn’t have to explain yourself to, someone who offered space without judgment. It made the grunt work of building booths for the Harvest Festival tolerable, even pleasant.
The rhythm of hammering and sawing was almost musical, a steady counterpoint to the distant thrum of Boston bleeding from Heath’s earbuds. It soothed the restless energy alwaysburning through Cole’s veins, the kind of static he usually outran on long stretches of pavement.
When Cole shifted the booth into place and caught Heath’s raised brows, he mouthed, “Lunch?”
Heath nodded. “Sally made sandwiches.”
Cole gave him a quick salute and headed up the grassy hill toward the inn. The place always stole his breath in autumn, the rolling grounds and trees waiting to burst into color. It was worth slowing his pace just to take in the pleasant breeze—the weather cooler after the storm that had rolled in the day before.
He’d just made it through the back door when a voice snagged his attention.
“Why are you asking me about Ned Turner?”
Sally Anne.
“He was our landlord,” came Jocelyn’s reply.
Cole froze, one hand still on the fridge handle. The sound of her voice cut sharper than it should have, his chest going tight as he let the fridge door close with a dull thud.
“I know that, Jossie.” Sally’s tone had softened. “But why’re you asking about him?”
“He wanted me and Mama out of that house.”
Cole’s brows shot up. Jocelyn hadn’t mentioned that when she’d laid out her suspicions about her mama’s fire. A strange offense pricked at him, sharp and unwelcome. She’d trusted him with part of the truth but not all of it.
“Do you think he might’ve started the fire?” Jocelyn’s voice dropped lower, almost secretive.
Cole’s pulse kicked hard. Could he see Ned Turner torching his own property to get his way? Sure could. But Jocelyn had mentioned other fires, and it didn’t make sense for Turner to have started those, too. Possible they weren’t related at all, and the tragedy that had haunted Cedar Hollow for twenty years was just a one time bit of malice.
Cole drifted down the hallway without deciding to, straining to catch more until Sally Anne’s office door clicked shut. The muffled voices only stoked the fire under his ribs.
When the door opened again, Sally Anne’s voice drifted out, heavy with bother. “… what you’re diggin’ through’ll just stir up dirt and nothing more.”
She nearly stumbled into him as she turned. When she saw him standing there, relief rolled over her face. “Oh, Cole. You boys need somethin’?”
“Sandwiches,” he said evenly.
Jocelyn slipped out of the office behind Sally, her dark eyes cutting sharp into his. Suspicion. Challenge. Maybe even guilt.
“They’re right in here.” Sally moved toward the kitchen, but Cole didn’t follow. His gaze stayed locked on Jocelyn.
She didn’t flinch, but her jaw ticked like she was chewing on words she wouldn’t give him.
Sally Anne passed him the food, her brows drawing together at the thick silence between them. Jocelyn was the first to break it, turning on her heel and striding away.
Cole followed.
“Jocelyn,” he called, pushing into a jog.
Her shoulders climbed higher, but she didn’t turn. The dismissal set his teeth on edge. What had shifted between them since last night, when their banter had been easy and damn near dangerous in how much he’d enjoyed it?
